What is a Penny Worth?
by AJCrane
Summary: Alfred reflects on his life.
1. Chapter 1

What is a Penny Worth?

My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I am a gentleman's gentleman, a term that is used in my native England. I am more than just a butler. My duties include, cleaning, cooking, valet, nursemaid, social secretary, medic, and confidant. It is something I was born to do, but before that I was an actor, a soldier, and a special agent. To many whom I greet, I am nothing more than a servant. To the Wayne family, I am much more.

My father, Jarvis Pennyworth had been Thomas Wayne's butler since Thomas was a small boy. He also served Thomas' father, Matthew Wayne. He was very old when he died, and he expected me to take over where he left off. I rebelled.

"Out of my two sons, you are the most gifted in this area," Jarvis said. "You cannot expect your twin brother, Egbert, to be a gentleman's gentleman. He does not have the aptitude."

"Father, I do not wish to be a butler. I want to be an actor," I told him.

I remember the look on his face that day. It was one of pure scandalous horror.

"No Pennyworth worth his salt has ever become so lowly a profession. Ours it a time honored profession. We have been serving the Wayne Family for generations. You shall follow in my footsteps."

Like a fool, I did not and followed my dream. I performed on the stage for three years, but nothing really came of it. What did I play? Ironically, a butler.

Then the War hit and I was called to duty there. I witnessed many of my fellow comrades fall. Then one day, my best friend was hit by enemy fire. The medic that was with us that day also died. It was up to me to save our wounded. I discovered that I also had a knack for it. Without much fanfare, I became a battlefield surgeon, doing more than just preparing wounded soldiers for transport. I lost count on the number of lives I was told that I saved. My skills as an actor and a battlefield surgeon came to the attention of my superior officer. He chose me to go behind enemy lines and find out the conditions.

I was to discover many secrets. I would carry those secrets, not on my person, but within my head. Secrets to this day, that if I told anyone I would be court marshaled, but over time, those secrets came in handy and used for another purpose.

When I returned from the War, I received a very rude surprise. My father had returned to England from America, no longer in the employ of the Wayne family. My father was dying.

"You must promise me, my son, that you will finish what I started. The Wayne family will need a gentleman's gentleman. You must return. It is my dying wish."

"Father . . ." I could not say anything to disway him from that course, and so I relented. Though I was trained in many things, I was not trained to be a gentleman's gentleman. On the death of my father, I began my training. And I discovered that my father was right. I had the aptitude, and I found that I enjoyed it. With my training completed and my father's letters and credentials, I proceeded to leave England and return to America, and to the Wayne Household.

To their surprise, they weren't expecting me. Thomas Wayne's boy that my father told me so much about, had grown into a man. His name is Bruce. And long side that man was another, a young lad about 12 years of age, named Richard Grayson. They had been together for two years. Though they appeared to handle things themselves, I soon found out that the household was far more of a mess. I would soon have everything running on a schedule that would make the Army appear lazy.

That night, I would also discover a secret that to this day, no one will ever hear it form me. As I said, I am a gentleman's gentleman, and to be a gentleman's gentleman you must be discreet. They say discretion is the better part of valor. There will come a time when I will give up being a gentleman's gentleman, perhaps because of health or for whatever reason there may be, but not right now.

For now, I am called for something greater than myself. For whatever purpose, I will to the best of my abilities be there for Master Wayne and for his ward, Richard Grayson. They need me. And so, what is a penny worth? I can only answer that with one word. Priceless.

End

APAPAPAPAP

A/N

Not many people know this, especially if you did not read the Batman Comics BEFORE 1960. Alfred had two origins: One was that he raised Bruce Wayne since his parents were murdered and the second was that he came into Bruce Wayne's life after Bruce had adopted Dick. Alfred lived with the Wayne's for months without knowing they were Batman and Robin. One night, Alfred heard a screaming coming from the old grandfather clock, he opened and discovered the entrance to the Batcave and Dick Grayson as Robin with an injured and unmasked Batman. Dick was yelling for Alfred and he helped Batman back to his full health (The latter one was used during the Silver Age with the addition of him being an actor and fought in World War 2).


	2. Chapter 2

Decided to add another part. This takes place after Damian's funeral in Batman Incorporated #9

What is a Penny Worth?

Part 2

"I didn't think Miss Talia was capable of this, Master Bruce . . ."

"Alfred. You **ALLOWED** Damian to leave the cave against my expressed **INSTRUCTIONS**."

"Sir. I was sure he could look after himself . . . I had no idea . . . Sir."

"Take a **VACATION** Alfred. We'll talk when this was **OVER**."

'Sir . . . I . . ."

"TAKE A VACATION."

I walked back to the manor, staring back at Mr. Wayne. My throat was dry, but the prickle of tears that were un-shed earlier now mingled with the rain.

'Take a vacation.'

Though the words seemed benign, I knew the meaning behind them. I could tell the way he said it in his voice. He did not wish to voice it in front of the others, his remaining sons, but I knew. In allowing Damian to leave the cave I alone must face the responsibility that in my naivety, I was the one responsible for placing Damian in danger . . . and Damian paid the price for my mistake. It was as if Master Bruce had slapped me in the face . . . and I would have deserved it.

Too many times I questioned Master Bruce with regards to his other sons, the first being Richard Grayson when he was eight years old. Jason was eleven when he joined us, and then Tim, who was 13. Master Damian . . . I do not know why I thought of him as different. Maybe because his mother had trained him, but I did not know that he would be fighting an opponent twice his size and strength.

Even so . . . I failed. And in the harshness of Master Wayne's words, he had also said the same thing. And even if he said we would talk later, I know what that talk will be about without having to go into details. The talk will not be necessary, for I know what the outcome will be.

I walked into my rooms and looked around. These three rooms, a sitting room with a fireplace, a bedroom, and a private bath, had been my private quarters since I arrived here those many years ago. I move to the small fireplace mantle and brush my fingers on each of the photos displayed there. I have no right to them now. Sitting down, I know what I must do, but my heart cannot help but break in that process. I pull out a sheet of my personal stationary and begin writing. I have to stop for a moment and sit back before my tears hit the paper and smear the ink. Once completed, I fold the sheet into thirds and place it in an envelope, and address it. I place it in my pocket. I will place it on Mr. Wayne's desk in the study as my last act of service.

I walk to the closet inside my bedroom and pull out an old suitcase. With each piece of clothing that I place inside, I am reminded how I came to be here and just how long my service to Mr. Wayne has been. I realize despite my years of service, I had very little that was truly mine. Perhaps what I own could fill a crate or two, but most everything that is in the two main rooms belong to this house, the furnishings, some of the books, and maybe . . .

As I finish the first part of my packing, I realize I have no other suitcases. Everything else will have to be sent to where I was going, everything that is mine, what little I have. Before that, I pull out an old leather bound case from my bedside table. I check it once and everything is in order. A butler returning from years of service meant only two things, one that he was retiring or two that he was disgraced. I shake off the thought immediately realizing if I continued on this line of thinking, I might not do what I intend. Closing the suitcase, I take the handle and carry it into the kitchen and place it in the hallway that leads to the garage along with the leather bound case.

Before leaving, I prepare a light lunch for everyone and place it in the dining room without saying word. I spy Master Richard standing in the hallway staring toward the front door. He must be waiting for Mr. Wayne. I do not say anything to gain his attention. The food that I have prepared will not spoil waiting for it to be eaten; it will be there just the same when they are ready to partake.

I move back through the kitchen and take another exit to the hall that leads toward the private den and Mr. Wayne's study, the very one that Master Richard and Mr. Wayne would use when Commissioner Gordon would contact them. The study now days was used for private meetings between his sons, the poles leading to the cave hidden behind a bookcase all but forgotten.

I place the envelope on Mr. Wayne's desk then leave. I take the same hallway back to the kitchen and pick up the suitcase. I move to the garage and find my bicycle. At least that I will be able to take with me. I strap my suitcase and the leather bound case on the back, place a ring around one of my pant legs to keep it from getting caught in the chain and mount my bicycle. Instead of opening the garage door, I take the side door and move down the path in the pouring rain so as not to be noticed. I am aware that I did not bring a raincoat, but right now with the way I am feeling, I prefer the rain. Perhaps it will wash this feeling away, this feeling that I have lost the most important people in my life, the only family I have ever known. For right now this penny is feeling worthless . . .

And when a Pennyworth is feeling worthless . . .

I just hope when Mr. Wayne reads my letter that some day, he will forgive me.

End?

A/N: What do you think was written in the letter that Alfred wrote? Can anyone guess? Notice how Alfred refers to Bruce throughout the short story. Why do you think that is so?


End file.
